


never understood before

by mriaow



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18327074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mriaow/pseuds/mriaow
Summary: “Look,” David starts, trying to gather his thoughts because Patrick’s got his listening face on, earnest and open, soft eyelashes wide, and he knows he’ll let him talk until he’s done. “I know I probably would have gone off the handle about it before, and yeah, of course I was hurt, a little bit.”The words stick in his throat a bit before they come out and Patrick audibly sucks a breath in, reaching over to squeeze David’s hand but staying silent.





	never understood before

**Author's Note:**

> Love a good morning-after debrief session. Many thanks to laliandra & duckgirlie for reading this and letting me blather my feelings at them.

David has woken up before Patrick a grand total of twice in their entire relationship, so he’s surprised when he opens his eyes on Sunday and finds Patrick still and quiet beside him, breathing deeply, shoulders bare above the duvet. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, figuring it’ll be at least six more months before he’s awake early enough to see it again.

His body probably woke itself up with all the residual tension from yesterday. They’d crashed hard last night, the emotions of the day catching up to them all at once. They’d had quick, intense sex after returning from the Cafe, both trying to envelop the other, not saying much other than repeated “I love you”s. He watches the goosebumps rise up on his forearm remembering how tightly Patrick’s fingers had dug in, the impossible angle he’d bent his neck at the end, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open on David’s name.

In the light of the morning, having dealt with their mutual relief at coming out the other side of the day’s rigours the night before, David lets simple gladness wash over him. Patrick’s on his side, one arm up between them, and David can’t quite stop himself from leaning in to brush his fingers and then his lips over the soft, vulnerable skin on the inside of Patrick’s bicep. It looks nearly translucent in the bright sunshine, such a thin layer between Patrick and the world. He loves every bit of him but this spot is one he returns to often, the pale sensitive skin. He can smell Patrick, taste the smooth softness of him under his mouth, feel the residual tender protectiveness from yesterday roll over him like something physical. 

David thinks he’s touched him softly enough but when he pulls back Patrick’s blinking his eyes open. Whoops. “Sorry,” he whispers, but Patrick just hums happily at him and rolls closer, rubbing his nose sleepily against the place David’s lips just left as though it itches.

They come fully awake against each other minute by quiet minute, sun streaming over the bed in the early morning from behind Patrick. David’s previous experiences with lazy Sunday morning cuddling had been few and far between, and usually felt illicit, as though someone was only ever five minutes away from confiscating them. He’s come to crave them now. He feels like glutton, like sloth, still like he’s stealing something but this time greedy and unwilling to let that stop him.

“Good morning,” Patrick says eventually, voice soft and creaky. 

“Happy birthday,” David returns, hooking an ankle over Patrick's calf, rubbing his foot up and down.

“Mm-mm, not anymore - unless this is Groundhog Day?”

David fake-shudders. No thank you. “As nice as yesterday’s first and third acts were, I was hoping today might require a little less frantic energy from the both of us in the second.”

He makes a show of consulting the spot on his wrist where his watch would be. “Although if I start running now I can probably catch my Dad before he opens his mouth, sending us down an exciting new alternate reality.”

“Hey,” Patrick says, his face sliding from sleepy unwrinkled happiness into seriousness. “I know I said this already but I’m going to keep saying it. Thank you, again. For all of it. For the party, for trying to help, for being so supportive.”

“That was all you,” David says, rubbing Patrick’s arm. “But you’re very welcome. I take payment in nachos.”

“Can we -” Patrick plays with the coverlet, not quite meeting David’s eyes. “You were so good yesterday, when I told you - and I feel like I made it all about me and my feelings, and I appreciate you letting me, but I know that I…. I’m sorry for keeping you from my parents, and for not telling you.”

David didn’t know they were going to move right into this. He’d put it to the side yesterday, and again last night, in favour of much more pressing and important matters, and frankly hadn’t planned on returning to dwell on the matter. It’s a far cry from what he’s used to, shunting his own feelings to the side and wanting to take care of Patrick in the moment, knowing they’ll have all the time in the world to talk about anything else later. He honestly hasn’t thought of that part of it since he left the apartment for the motel yesterday, heart beating a mile a minute and arms heavy with dread and complimentary lotions.

“It’s okay,” he starts, but Patrick cuts him off, hands moving with nervous energy, round shoulders hunched.

“No, it’s - I mean I know I explained why but it still... I know I still hurt you, and I’m sorry.” Patrick finally looks at him again, his eyes full of determination and a depth of feeling David is unprepared for, every time. “You’re the most important thing. Even if I wasn’t ready, I should have at least told you. It’s okay if you’re upset about it. You’re allowed to be mad.”

“I know I’m allowed to be mad, thank you,” David says, not a little unsnippily, because really? Needing permission to be upset has never been David’s issue.

“You were so good with me yesterday and I think I kind of streamrolled past it because I was so… I want you to know we can talk about it, if you want. You don’t have to hold back.”

Patrick nods when he finishes talking as though he’s satisfied, mouth in a thin firm line, belying the look of uncertainty in his eyes. All David wants to do is move over on top of him, swear they don’t have to talk about it, promise that they’re good into his mouth and keep moving forward. 

But here’s the thing. David _had_ been a tiny bit hurt - in the Cafe, feeling like he’d been hit by two trucks at once with the twin realizations that it was possible he didn’t hold the place he thought he had such a firm grip on, and then the panic that he’d just royally, royally fucked up. Hearing Patrick confirm it, like the two trucks had backed up and really gone for it this time, having to hear Patrick tell him that his parents didn’t know and know that the whole weekend was going to come crashing down, feeling sick to his stomach that his enthusiasm and blindness had put Patrick in a position to be hurt. 

David’s self-aware enough to know that even six months ago his reaction to Patrick’s confession likely would have been different. His own pain would have been front and centre, a wave sweeping over everything, his own insecurity swallowing everything in its path. He would have heard Emiliano’s scornful ‘What? Of course I didn’t tell them, you’re not my boyfriend, this was just for the summer’ echoing on repeat in his head and followed that ugly voice from the past right down the rabbit hole.

But he knows Patrick, knows him better and deeper every day, so as soon as he heard the denial he knew there must have been more to it - a reason he deserved to hear. And he’s getting better at taking a second, even just one second, to not let the neuroses out to play immediately. He’s learned to hold himself in check and let Patrick speak for himself instead of letting David’s braindemons speak for him. He could chalk it up to becoming a better person but most of it’s probably down to simple reward training: whenever he’s slowed his roll so far, he’s been given explanations and context and honesty from Patrick that feel far better slotting into place than theories of his own insignificance ever did.

“Look,” David starts, trying to gather his thoughts because Patrick’s got his listening face on, earnest and open, soft eyelashes wide, and he knows he’ll let him talk until he’s done. “I know I probably would have gone off the handle about it before, and yeah, of course I was hurt, a little bit.”

The words stick in his throat a bit before they come out and Patrick audibly sucks a breath in, reaching over to squeeze David’s hand but staying silent.

This is so hard to say - the last thing David wants to do is make Patrick feel like this was his fault, like he somehow hadn’t been brave enough for David when that couldn’t be further from the truth. He doesn’t want to wound Patrick with his own admissions or make him regret having needed time to come out on his own terms.

But their whole foundation right from the start has been based in a willingness to tell each other how they make each other feel - it’s the best and hardest thing about knowing Patrick and being known by him in turn.

“It hurt to think even for a second that I didn’t matter enough, that I was invisible to a whole part of your life. But Patrick, that’s all it was, just a second. Because…” and this is the part he has to get right, this is the part Patrick has to _know_.

David chews on his lip, feeling Patrick’s eyes on him and hearing the click of his jaw as he swallows. He fidgets, folding his pillow under his head and then unfolding it and letting it lie flat again so he can look at Patrick head-on. 

“But I wasn’t mad at you, and I was far more upset that I’d ruined this for you, that I could have lost something on your behalf just by being careless.”

Patrick looks like he wants to interrupt, bless him, but David’s built up a head of steam and he’s not about to slow down.

“I know it seems like I should maybe be more upset, based on…” David waves his hand, trying to encompass ‘my history’ and ‘the ghosts of all the people who have ever denied not just the way they felt about me but having ever kissed me at all’ and ‘Rachel’.

It’s true that he hadn’t had time to think about it yesterday, so focused on shielding Patrick and trying to keep the house of cards from falling down, but he knows that’s not the whole reason. He’s an excellent multitasker, and stewing is second-nature, so he’s nearly as surprised as Patrick apparently is to find the thing he had thought would hurt so much to hear washed away and removed of its sting.

“And I was, sure, but I didn’t - it didn’t feel like it would have before because the things it might have made me feel back then are things I know aren’t true anymore. I didn’t feel like you were ashamed of me, because I know you’re not.”

And maybe that’s it. David has to reach out as soon as the words leave his lips, shifting his weight to move closer. Patrick reaches down, his fingers running lightly over David’s kneecap before firming their touch, tugging David’s leg further over Patrick’s calf as though he wants the weight of it holding him down, their bodies still sleep-warm under the duvet.

As soon as he says it, David feels like he’s just inserted himself into a lock and had the door click open around him, a deep sense of agreement. After the barbecue and learning about Rachel he’d thrown Patrick’s words of trust back at him. But he doesn’t want to do that this time - he _can’t_ , he realizes, because he does trust him. _You’re the most important thing,_ Patrick said a minute ago, the obscene weight of the statement sitting so comfortably on his tongue, tasting like truth. 

David’s just as startled as anyone to realize he doesn’t feel insecure in the slightest. How important he is to Patrick is a fact, one Patrick’s convinced him of every day. 

“I mean,” he says, trying to explain, “I tried desperately to talk you out of singing me a love song in front of the entire town and their brother and couldn’t sway you an inch, there’s clearly no way you’re too ashamed to say I’m your boyfriend.” The longer he talks the fewer wrinkles there are on Patrick’s forehead where he’s watching David carefully so he ploughs on, determined to erase them entirely.

“Maybe I might once have felt like you were trying to give yourself an out, that this was some kind of summer camp experiment you were planning on dropping, but you’ve cosigned my lease on the store so I know _that’s_ not true.” Okay, maybe David could have chosen a less paperwork-related example for that one, but this was not the conversation to be dropping bombshells about how every day it seemed more likely they were the furthest thing from temporary. Like Patrick felt like permanence to him, his strong hand burning a brand on the soft back of his knee. Focus, David.

“To be honest, I was a little too busy spiraling about what I’d accidentally done to you. You can say you should have told me, and sure, yes, but I knew this was a big change for you. I could have asked too, could have checked in with how the Great Awakening was going.” David waves his hand again, this time trying to encompass ‘your history’ and ‘completely re-evaluating your sexuality and definition of happiness’ and ‘Rachel’.

Patrick’s watching him, the beginnings of a smile starting. His hair is too short to get proper bedhead, neat and trim around his ears, but it’s slicked up against his temple where it’s been pressed against the pillow. He looks so much younger in the morning light. David’s heart thumps.

“And obviously you and I have very different experiences when it comes to closets of all kinds,” he continues. “But I - I get it. I understand why it felt so big. I get why you were worried, although obviously I wish you had told me for party-planning logistics’ sake if nothing else.

“So sure, I had a moment. But it’s okay, Patrick - I’m okay. I promise. I didn’t really think any of that, not really, because I know that none of the things that might have worried me about it were real. You’ve done-” and god, David just knows he’s absolutely bright pink saying this “you’ve done a pretty good job at convincing me so far that I don’t have to be worried. I knew those things weren’t true. They couldn't be. I knew we were fine because when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains - however improbable - must be the truth.”

He adopts an arch tone for the last bit and Patrick grins, no trace of uncertainty left in his face. “Nice one. Sherlock Holmes?”

“Oh, is it?” David knows full well it is, thank you very much, but this is too easy. “I was quoting an heiress I hooked up with on a yacht who ended up being a huge conspiracy theorist, so I’m not sure how much water it holds.”

“Ideally none, if it’s a decent yacht.”

He was _far_ too pleased with himself for that one. David closes his eyes, feigning pain. “Patrick, it is seven am. Please.”

Patrick twinkles at him over the pillow and wow, it’s so much harder to give a proper quelling glare when he feels this full and weightless.

David can feel Patrick's fingers leave his knee and start to run up and down the back of his thigh and soldiers on, trying to get back on track before they wrap up the discussion portion of Sunday morning. “What I mean is, at some point it became less improbable that I could trust you than that my insecurities would be more real than the way I know you feel about me.” He pauses, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not sure if I nailed those negatives or not.”

And isn’t that a big mouthful of complete word salad but as mentioned, it’s seven am and Patrick is looking at him with the most beautiful look on his face and oh, he loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

“David,” he says, his voice choking up, “Trying to be worthy of your trust is the great honour of my life.”

“Um, wow,” David says, taking a few seconds to take some deep breaths, rolling his head back into his pillow and feeling the now-familiar hot rush through his whole body. “Are you trying to beat your own best score in the most beautiful thing ever said to me?”

“Is it working?” Patrick leans in, a faux-curious look on his face, his eyes already on David’s mouth. “I want my name all over that leaderboard.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” David says, still feeling breathless, and decides he’s done more than enough talking. They’ve got a whole day stretched out ahead of them, as long and open and sunny as a lifetime, and he’s got a good brave man in his bed. He opens his arms and waits.


End file.
